Eighteen
by EKWTSM9
Summary: Sometimes life comes at you in ways you can never anticipate or expect.
1. Chapter 1

**I want to thank the ever-faithful and insightful Sylvia Elaine for her constant cheer-leading, not only for me but for every writer on this site, her well thought-out and always well-considered reviews, her love of 'our boys' and her suggestion that led to this short story. And to everyone else who continues to keep this very special show and these very special men alive in our hearts and minds.**

Lieutenant Mike Stone glanced up from the chair behind his desk, looking over the top of his reading glasses at the young man who was ambling back into the Homicide office. The older man noted that Inspector Steve Keller, his partner for a little more than five years, once again looked troubled, like his mind was somewhere else and definitely not on his job. It hadn't been for a couple of days now.

Choosing to ignore it, as he had been doing, Mike refocused on the report before him. With a tired sigh, peripherally noting that Steve had dropped into his own chair in the bullpen, Mike picked up his pen, sighed the last page of the report and closed the file, getting up from his desk and taking off his glasses. He picked up the folder and exited his office, approaching his partner's desk, and dropped tiredly into the guest chair.

Steve glanced up, but didn't meet Mike's eyes, something he had been doing a lot lately. "Everything okay?"

Mike tossed the report onto the desk. "Yeah, it's perfect," he said with a tight perfunctory smile. When there was no further response, he ventured, "So, have you decided what you're going to do on your vacation?" He knew that Steve had requested a week off, but the younger man hadn't offered a clue as to what he was going to do with his time.

With a wry smile reminiscent of the Steve he usually was, the inspector shook his head with a slight chuckle. "You mean my vacation without you?" The whole subject of vacations had become a running joke between them over the years.

"Yeah, your vacation without me," Mike echoed with a laugh.

Continuing to chuckle but still not meeting his partner's direct gaze, Steve leaned back in his chair. "No, actually, I think I'm just gonna get in the car and drive, see where I end up, you know."

Hesitating a beat, knowing he wasn't being told the truth and wondering why, Mike studied his young friend before nodding. "Yeah, I understand. Well," he said with a heavy sigh, getting to his feet, "do me a favor and drive safe, will ya? I want you back here in one piece."

Still looking at his desk, Steve nodded with a laugh and a grin. "Yeah, I will, I promise. So, what are you gonna do?" He knew that Mike had also put in for some time off; they had been working incredibly hard recently and both were exhausted both mentally and physically. It wasn't often that they had taken vacations at the same time, so this was an exception.

Mike shrugged. "I don' know yet. I've been neglecting some repairs around the house and I need to get those done. Then I might just head upstate for a couple of days, do some fishin', maybe catch a couple of ballgames."

Steve glanced up. "Sounds good."

"Yeah. Listen, why don't you take off now, get a head start. I'll look after the report and all that."

"You sure?"

Mike smiled affectionately. "Yeah, I'm sure. Get outa here." He slapped Steve on the shoulder as he headed back towards his office, then watched surreptitiously as Steve cleaned up the top of his desk, throwing some papers in a drawer, the rest in the wastepaper basket before heading out the door with a final nod goodbye at his partner.

An hour later, having finished up the paperwork that still needed his attention, and with the office now almost empty, Mike strolled out of his office and crossed to his partner's desk, sitting in his chair and opening the top drawer. He felt slightly guilty, but he knew Steve was holding something back from him and he wanted to find out what it was. It was very uncharacteristic of the young man to be so reticent to share his life with his old friend, and Mike was more than a little disturbed.

Finding nothing in the top drawer, Mike was reaching for the second drawer when some pieces of paper in the waste basket caught his eye. He picked a couple of them out and glanced at the messages. One name was unfamiliar but tickled something in the back of his mind. Pocketing the paper with the name and phone number, he got up and drifted back into his office. With a final glance to make sure he had put everything away, he snagged his hat and jacket from the coatrack and crossed the room to exit.

# # # # #

Closing the zipper on his suitcase, Steve took one last look around his living room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. With a loud sigh, he picked up the suitcase and his car keys and, locking the front door after him, made his way down the steps in the early morning sunshine. Putting the suitcase on the passenger seat, he glanced up at the apartment as he started the car and headed out.

Traffic was light so it didn't take as long to get to his destination as it would normally have taken, but it did give him more time to think, something he had been trying to avoid the past few days. He hated not being able to come clean with his partner, but what he was about to do could have ramifications that would change both their lives, and he wanted to be absolutely sure of everything before he had to begin to have 'the conversation' with Mike should that become necessary.

He pulled close to the barrier of the long-term parking lot and pressed the button for the ticket. Slipping it onto the dashboard, he parked the Porsche, grabbed his suitcase and headed for the terminal. His flight wasn't for another hour, so he knew he had plenty of time – plenty of more time to think, he shook his head with a melancholy sigh as he crossed the parking lot of the San Francisco International Airport.

# # # # #

Mike was sitting on his living room sofa, glasses on and feet up on the coffee table. A rapidly cooling cup of coffee was in one hand, the piece of paper he had retrieved from Steve's wastepaper basket in the other.

He leaned forward and put the cup down, then reached for the phone on the small table beside him and relocated it to the coffee table. He dialed a familiar number and settled back, waiting.

"Rudy? Hi, it's Mike," he said quickly when his old friend answered. "Look, I ah -… no, no, I don't go in till Monday morning…. Right… Look, I need you to do a favor for me, will ya? I'm on vacation, remember? … Yeah, right. Anyway, it's a name and a number… No, it's, ah, it's personal…. Yeah, anytime tomorrow will be fine… Thanks. The name is D. Fremont and the number is 703-632-1000… Yeah, that's right…. No, ah, this is on the Q.T., okay?... Yeah, I know, and I'll take the heat… Yeah, right, okay, well, I'll be here all day tomorrow so call me anytime…. Thanks, Rudy. Hey, ah, say hi to Marie for me, will ya?... Yeah, goodbye."

Mike hung up and sat there silently, staring at the piece of paper in his hand.

# # # # #

The bright Sunday morning sunshine was in his eyes as Steve pulled the rented sedan up to the guard station. His window was already rolled down and, as the dark blue uniformed officer approached the car, he took off his dark glasses and held up his gold star and I.D. "Steven Keller, I'm here to see Agent Fremont."

The young officer consulted the clipboard he held in his hand, his eyes quickly scanning the list of names. "Ah, yes, sir, I have your name on the list. If you could just pull your car over there," he pointed towards a few parking spaces just on the other side of the barrier, "and Agent Fremont will be with you momentarily."

Smiling, Steve pocketed his I.D. and shield as the guard strode back into the guards shack and picked up the telephone receiver. As the boom lifted, Steve drove onto the grounds and parked in the designated spot, turning off the car and waiting.

It was only a couple of minutes until he spotted a dark-suited, brown-haired man just a few years older than himself approaching the rental car. As Steve got out, the man held out his hand. "Inspector Keller? I'm Special Agent Fremont. Call me Doug."

They shook hands. "Call me Steve."

With a broad grin, Fremont nodded. "Noted. Well, Steve, welcome to Quantico."

# # # # #

"Mister Stone, when you're finished, you can put your bag in the closet right there," the nurse pointed to the door beside the bathroom. "Doctor Robinson will be in to see you in about an hour, so just take your time."

Nodding his thanks, Mike tossed his overnight bag onto the bed, noting the neatly folded light blue garment lying over the railing at its foot. With a heavy sigh, he sat on the edge of the bed and glanced around the small room. He smiled inwardly, remembering the nurse's sympathetic look when he'd checked in minutes ago.

" _Are you here alone, sir?"_

" _Yes, ah, my daughter's at college in Arizona and, ah, and, well, I don't have anyone else."_

It had felt strange saying that, knowing it wasn't true, but he hadn't told Steve about any of this; he knew the younger man had something going on in his own life that he felt unable to share, and Mike, though worried, knew he had to give Steve his own space. If he wanted Mike to know, then eventually he would tell him.

And now, of course, Mike was keeping something from Steve, not wanting to add any additional burden to what, Mike suspected, was already a potentially life-changing dilemma in his partner's young life.


	2. Chapter 2

"So, what do you think?" Special Agent Doug Fremont grinned as he picked up his chilled glass of beer and took a gulp.

Steve loosened his tie and undid his collar button. He shook his head slightly and smiled. "Well, I gotta tell ya, it's pretty damn impressive."

"Told ya," Fremont agreed after swallowing his mouthful of ale. "And you ain't seen nothing yet. Things are pretty quiet here on a Sunday, but tomorrow when all the recruits are in classes and stuff, this place is like a beehive. We'll sit in on a couple of lectures and head over to the firing range and you can have a go at some of the new firepower we have." He glanced around at the three other agents sharing their round table in a bar that was close to the Academy. "You guys still using the .38?"

Steve nodded. "Yep, we sure are."

Special Agent Matt Truman nodded. "We're issued the S&W Model 10 – it's got that 4-inch barrel we've all gotten used to. Some of us think that it makes it more accurate but, I don't know, I never had trouble with the Special."

"Where are you from?" Steve asked.

"Kansas City. I was a cop there for eight years before I was offered the Bureau job."

Steve grinned, looking down at the table momentarily. "And now you're a cheerleader, hunh? Here to sell the Bureau to potential recruits?"

Truman grinned back, unruffled by the subtle chiding. "Hey, we only go after the best. That's why you're here, right?"

A brief silence descended over the table as Steve kept his eyes down and the agents glanced at each other. Fremont took a deep breath. "Look, Steve, you know we're here for the hard-sell, nobody's fooling anybody here. But what Matt said is true – we _do_ only go after 'the best and the brightest'. Joe has sent a number of really good prospects our way over the years who have gone on to become top-drawer agents. Everyone respects his eye."

Steve looked up, a chastised smile on his face. "I appreciate all this, guys, I really do. I'm trying to come at this with an open mind. I know you've still got a couple of days to persuade me, but I gotta tell ya, it's gonna be an uphill battle."

Fremont leaned back and grinned, raising his beer mug to his lips. "We've heard that before, haven't we, fellas?" And the other agents laughed, nodding.

# # # # #

Mike closed the hardback book and put it on the bedstand, taking off his glasses, folding them and laying them atop the book. The light behind the bed was the only illumination in the room as he settled back onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling. He really didn't know why he had brought the book; he couldn't concentrate. He'd tried to read the same page several times but nothing was sinking in.

There was a tightness in his chest that he couldn't ignore, a feeling of apprehension that wouldn't go away. Since he'd received the call several days before, he couldn't shake the feeling that his life was now going to go in a direction he had not anticipated. Though he had tried to project an image of normality, it was like he had suddenly been surrounded by a fog, through which he could see no break in the clouds.

He thought again of his decision to keep the news to himself. He couldn't conceive of telling Jeannie, at least not right now; although, depending on what happened in the next couple of days, she would need to be told.

Steve had been another matter. Of all the people in his life, his partner was the one person he could have trusted with the news, but for the past couple of weeks he had become aware that there was something going on in the young man's life that he had elected to keep to himself.

At first annoyed that he was being kept in the dark, Mike came to realize that maybe

Steve was not confiding in him because he was trying to spare the older man's feelings. And then Mike had inadvertently seen the phone message left on Steve's desk, with a name that came back to him in a rush. Joe Merrick.

Yesterday's call from Rudy had confirmed his suspicions. He now knew without a doubt where Steve was, and why; he was pleased with himself that he hadn't let on, that he had gone along with the charade that Steve was just going to wander.

But now the need to talk to his best friend was almost overwhelming. He really didn't want to face the next few days alone, but he also knew that he had no desire to put an inordinate burden on the younger man who, though his closest confidant, was ultimately not family, not blood, and not obligated to him in any way. They were, ultimately, two policemen that had been thrown together on the job and the simple fact that they had become fast friends was pure serendipity.

Mike closed his eyes and took deep breaths, trying to get a grip on his fear – for himself, and for what the future would hold if what he was facing actually became a reality. This had come on so quickly, and so out of the blue, that he hadn't had time to reconcile it in his own mind, let alone be able to articulate it to someone else. And that was another reason he had kept it to himself; he had to marshal his own thoughts before he could begin to confide in someone else.

He tossed his head back slightly and snorted a laugh. Shaking his head, he smiled, suddenly realizing he was getting ahead of himself. One thing at a time, he told himself; let's get through this one step at a time. Nothing was in concrete yet, the final diagnosis had yet to be made. His reputation as a 'glass half-full' kind of guy was at stake here.

He settled back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He knew the nurse would be in shortly to give him a sleeping pill; he hoped he wouldn't need it but he also knew that sleep would most probably be elusive tonight.

# # # # #

Jacket and shoeless, his tie off and collar button undone, Steve was stretched out on the hotel bed, a beer on the end table and an FBI training manual spread out on his lap. A couple of tissues were laid out on the bed close by, and as he pulled sunflower seeds out of the bag beside him and popped them into his mouth, he discarded the empty shells on top of the growing mound on the tissues.

Stopping to take a sip of beer, he looked up, his thoughts suddenly far away. He couldn't believe he was here. Things had seemed to move so quickly after he'd received the message from FBI Agent Joe Merrick. He really didn't know why he chose to keep it all so secretive, apart from the obvious; to walk away from the job, from the city he loved so much, and from the partner he had grown so close to over the years seemed an unlikely option when he was first approached by the FBI.

But now that he was here, seeing the facilities and the state-of-the-art equipment and techniques, the caliber of the personnel and the prospect of a limitless future within this highly respected organization, he began to have second thoughts about his commitment to the life he was currently living.

With a deep sigh, he ran a hand over his face and across his eyes. There was an unmistakable ache in his heart right now as he thought about what it would mean if he left at the end of the week without a firm commitment to either camp. He had arrived here with all his defenses up, knowing that the FBI would have to overcome some pretty big obstacles to really capture his attention.

But he was unprepared for the onslaught that had begun almost from the moment he drove onto the academy property. They really knew how to present themselves and 'put on a show', so to speak. He found himself impressed and, much to his chagrin, tempted, and he hadn't been here a day yet.

Blowing out a deep breath, he reached for the bottle of beer and took a sip, then turned his attention back into the manual.

# # # # #

"So, this is the Model 10 we're using. You'll find the longer barrel changes things a bit. Here, give it a try." Fremont handed Steve the revolver stock first.

Steve hefted the gun in his hand. "It's a little heavier than the .38 but not much." He put the revolver on the shelf in front of him, slipped the earmuffs on his head, then picked the Model 10 up again and took a shooter's stance. He snapped off six rounds quickly, then put the gun down again and took the muffs off as the paper target ratcheted towards them. "Feels good. I like it."

Fremont grinned. "Well, when we're finished here, I'll take you over to the rifle range. Wait till you see what we have there."

# # # # #

Mike stared at the ceiling tile and fluorescent light boxes as the gurney was rolled down the corridor then through the doors of the operating room. The gurney came to a stop and he heard the wheels being locked into position. A gowned, hooded, masked and gloved figure leaned over him.

"Mister Stone? I'm Doctor Ellison, the anesthesiologist. I just want to you relax and let me do all the work, and this'll all be over before you know it, right?" he said pleasantly.

Even though he was slightly groggy from the sedative he had been given, Mike could see the smile in the doctor's eyes, and it comforted him. Ellison moved away and another similarly outfitted man took his place.

"Good morning, Mike," Doctor Robinson said warmly. "Now I want you to remember everything we talked about yesterday. You're in good hands with this team, so you just let us do what we have to do here and I'll see you in Recovery in a couple of hours, okay?"

Mike nodded slightly, trying to smile, then Ellison reappeared with a facemask. "Here we go," he said encouragingly as he placed the mask over Mike's nose and mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mister Stone…Mister Stone…can you hear me? If you can, open your eyes… There we go." The soft female voice was comforting and encouraging at the same time. Mike was having a hard time focusing but the fact that his eyes were at least slightly open seemed to please the speaker.

"You're in Recovery, Mister Stone. Everything went just fine. We're going to move you back into your room in a bit, so you just relax."

He felt a gentle hand touch his left forearm, and he closed his eyes and drifted back into oblivion.

# # # # #

"Overwhelmed yet?" Fremont asked as he and Steve strode down the walkway towards yet another grey cement building.

Steve laughed and shook his head. "Not quite but getting there. You guys sure know how to impress someone, I can tell you that."

"Well, we have a lot at stake here. We've set ourselves some very high standards and it's sometimes a challenge to maintain them. That's why our agents in the field keep their eyes open. We're sorta the civilian equivalent of the Marines… you know, 'The Few, The Proud', that kind of thing. We're pretty particular about who we let into our ranks."

"I can see that."

They had reached the glass front door of the windowless structure, and Fremont pulled it open, letting Steve enter first. "So, what we have here is our state-of-the-art forensics laboratory. Our guys are working on some pretty amazing stuff. Of course NCIC was started here, and we are working with Rockwell to develop a computer program that can recognize fingerprints. Can you imagine what something like that will do? The man-hours it'll save?"

They had reached a set of dark grey double doors. Fremont opened one and gestured Steve to enter. "Prepare to be dazzled," he said with a chuckle as Steve stepped through the open door.

# # # # #

"How are you feeling?"

Mike opened his eyes. He was still somewhat disoriented and, though the painkillers were masking most of the pain in his chest, he found breathing shallowly was helping a great deal. "I've been better," he said quietly with an attempt at a smile.

Robinson grinned back. "Yeah, I bet." He popped the tips of his stethoscope into his ears then turned the sheet down, exposing Mike's torso. Avoiding the white bandage and chest tube on his upper right chest, he placed the diaphragm on Mike's right ribcage. The older man jumped slightly.

"Hey, that's cold," he chuckled, and Robinson smiled.

"Sorry, I forgot to warm it up." He listened for several seconds, then moved the diaphragm higher up and listened again. He straightened and took the stethoscope off, stuffing it into his coat pocket. "Everything sounds fine. You're doing great. So, you just lie here and take it easy. You can eat whatever you like so make sure you tick off what you want on the menu they're gonna be bringing around. I'll be back to see you later on."

"Thanks, Doc," Mike smiled as Robinson pulled the sheet back up to cover the older man.

Robinson began to turn away then stopped. "I know you're worried, Mike, and that's to be expected, but like I said before, let's not get ahead of ourselves here. It probably won't be until later on tomorrow before we know what's going on, and I would really prefer it if you didn't just lie here anticipating the worst. Okay?"

Grateful, Mike nodded with a tight smile. "I'll try."

As the door closed behind the surgeon, Mike settled back and closed his eyes. Try as he might, he couldn't keep his thoughts from straying back to his partner. More than ever he wished Steve was sitting in the chair beside the bed, so he could talk to him, give voice to his fears and receive the reassurances he knew would be forthcoming.

# # # # #

Steve tossed his jacket onto the bed then crouched in front of the mini-bar. He took out a beer and opened it with the church key, tossing both it and the cap onto the desk. He sat on the end of the bed and took a long draft, then ran his other hand over his face. It had been a long day already and it was barely dinnertime.

He got up and turned on the TV, glancing at his watch as he sat back down. It was nearly 6:30 and he was prepared to settle back and watch the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite. He was going to meet Fremont and some of the others at a nearby restaurant at 7:30 so he knew he had plenty of time.

He got up to make his way to the bathroom when a sound on the television caught his attention. He stopped and turned back, a smile splitting his face as the jingle for "Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco treat" filled the room. Chuckling, he shook his head as visions of The City and his partner flashed through his mind. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, his throat constricted and he took a short, abbreviated gasp, almost struggling to breathe.

Standing stock still, he looked around the room, suddenly overcome with the guilt that his very presence in this room, and this city, represented. His eyes stinging, he quickly sat on the bed as his legs gave out.

It was close to 7:30 before he could pull himself together enough to put on his jacket, straighten his tie, and leave the room to join the others for dinner.

# # # # #

At the knock on his door, Captain Rudy Olsen looked up from the report he was perusing. "Come in," he growled.

The door opened quickly as Roy Devitt entered in a rush. "I was hoping you were still here," he said in his normal quick manner as he closed the door and dropped into a guest chair. "Listen, Rudy, have you got a minute, there's something I want to talk to you about."

With deliberate slowness, knowing it would irritate his younger colleague, and a wry smile, Olsen closed the file and sat back. "Roy, what can I do for you?"

"Okay, so, maybe this is none of my business, Rudy, but," Devitt leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he paused and sighed loudly, "what the hell is going on with Mike and Steve?"

Tilting his head curiously, Olsen asked carefully, "What do you mean?"

"Okay, well, they've never taken vacations at the same time before –"

"What's that got to do with –?"

"No, hear me out, Rudy," Devitt interrupted the interrupter, a hand up in a stop gesture, "I just have a really weird feeling about this. Did, ah, did Steve tell you where he was going, by any chance?"

"Where he was going? What do you mean? He was just going on vacation, wasn't he?"

"Well, that's what he wants everyone to believe. Look, he came to me about a week ago…he wanted to talk about something and he didn't think he could talk to Mike about it."

Olsen cocked his head but said nothing, so Devitt continued.

"You remember the Jerry Schilling incident with the Chinese diplomat a few months back?"

"Of course."

"Well, one of the FBI guys that helped out with that case, Merrick I think his name was, well, he got in touch with Steve a couple of weeks ago. Seems Merrick has a history of 'recruiting' candidates for the FBI and he was so impressed with Steve during the Schilling case that he recommended him to the Bureau. He called to give Steve a heads-up…and eventually Steve got a call from the Bureau."

Olsen frowned and leaned forward. "So, what, is he thinking about defecting to the Feds?"

Devitt raised his eyebrows in a facial shrug. "Well, that's the 64 thousand dollar question, isn't it? Steve figured he couldn't talk to Mike about it – something about hitting too close to home – so he came to me." With another shrug, Devitt continued, "I guess maybe he figured he could use me as a sounding board and I would be a little more neutral than Mike might be." He sighed and dropped his head, running his fingertips back and forth across his forehead.

"So, anyway, he told me he was gonna take the Bureau up on their offer to fly him to D.C. and give him a tour of their facilities at Quantico and sort of, I don't know, keep an open mind about it. I know he was very torn, but he didn't want to close that door before even looking through it, if you know what I mean."

Olsen was nodding, his brow furrowed. "So, what's your problem?"

Devitt sat back and sighed again. "Ah, I don't know, maybe it's, I don't know, maybe I've been at this job too long, but something's telling me that there's somethin' else going on here and I'm feeling, I don't now, that's there's something I'm missing…" He shrugged and looked at Olsen with resignation and confusion.

The older man stared at Devitt for several long seconds then dropped his gaze. Shaking his head slowly, he looked up and took a deep breath. "Roy, I've got something I have to tell you. It could cost me a friendship, but I think what I'm going to tell you is a lot more important than a friendship right now, and I don't say that lightly, believe me."

Devitt leaned forward, frowning in concern.

Olsen took another deep breath and met Devitt's stare evenly. "While Steve was confiding in you, it seems that Mike was doing the same with me. He swore me to secrecy, but he knew he had to tell someone, and he didn't want it to be Steve. For reasons that will soon become apparent, I'm sure."

As Devitt listened with growing concern, Olsen brought the younger captain up to speed with regards to their Homicide colleague. When he had finished, Devitt leaned back in the chair. "God damn it," he sighed, the expletive a frustrated explosion of the anger and concern building up inside. "When are those two gonna talk to each other?"

"It's not like them, I'll give you that," Olsen agreed with a sad shake of his head. "But the stakes are incredibly high for both of them right now, and I believe that neither of them wants to put a burden on the other."

After several seconds of silence, Devitt leaned back. "So, what do we do?"

"If we're smart," Olsen said heavily, "we do nothing."

# # # # #

His office lit by only the desk lamp, Devitt sat in silence, staring into nothingness. He glanced at his watch, then at the black phone. Slowly he opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a piece of paper. Tossing it onto the blotter, he sat back and stared at it.

More than a minute later, his mind finally made up, he picked up the handset and dialed the long distance number. He closed his eyes, his hand closing tightly around the receiver, his knuckles turning white as the phone on the other end was answered.

"Hello?"


	4. Chapter 4

He became aware of the ambient sounds that he had almost become used to - the muted voices from the nurse's station down the hall, the rumble of carts and gurneys as they rolled past the door, the low electrical hum of the building itself. He had been laying in the hospital bed for almost 24 hours now, too sore and worried to do more than just lie there and think, trying to sleep as much as possible. He kept his eyes closed, attempting to maintain his slow and shallow breathing. The pain medication could only do so much.

He shifted slightly, wincing as he did so, then froze. With the sudden suspicion that he wasn't alone, he slowly opened his eyes. He tilted his head down a little, dropping his gaze from the ceiling towards the visitor chair on his left. And met the troubled green eyes of his partner.

Neither said anything, but Steve could see the unguarded look of surprise, joy and relief that quickly washed over the older man's face. Then Mike closed his eyes briefly and collected himself. "What are you doing here?" he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Steve, who hadn't broken his stare and whose brows were knit with worry, replied softly, "Where else should I be?"

Mike caught his breath, staring at the younger man as if he couldn't believe he was actually there. Aware his heart was pounding, he exhaled carefully. "Who, ah, who told you about this?"

Steve's uncompromising stare softened and he allowed a small smile to curl his lips. He shook his head. "That doesn't matter right now. I was just told you were in the hospital for tests and nothing else." He paused. "Mike, what's going on?"

Mike dropped his eyes as he tried to sit up a little straighter but was stopped by the pain from the chest tube. "Can you raise the bed a little bit?" he asked quietly and Steve nodded as he got up and crossed to the foot of the bed. "That's good," Mike said when he felt more comfortable and Steve pulled the chair closer to the bed.

"What's going on?" the younger man asked again as he sat.

Mike looked down and sighed slightly. "So, you know we had our physicals last week, right? Well, the day after, I got a call from the doctor. They, ah, they found what they called a 'density' on my chest x-ray, in my right lung." He heard Steve catch his breath slightly. "I went back the next day – remember when I said I had that dentist appointment?" he asked under a lowered brow, coming clean with a wry smile, and shrugged slightly when Steve nodded. "Well, it wasn't the dentist – I had to go back for a second x-ray.

"And, ah, it turned out there wasn't a problem with the negative, there really was a… 'shadow' on the x-ray. So, it was recommended that I have what they call an 'open lung biopsy'."

"What does that mean?" Steve asked softly, tensing slightly.

With his left hand, Mike pulled the bedsheet down and lifted the right side of the light blue hospital gown that was draped over him, exposing the white bandage and chest tube. "They opened me up yesterday and took a piece of the tumour for analysis… basically to see if it's cancerous or not."

He paused and took as deep a breath as he could, looking down briefly then up to meet his partner's worried eyes. "It, ah, it takes between 24 to 36 hours to get the results back and, ah, well, I'm still waiting to hear." His voice cracked slightly and he stopped, gently clearing his throat.

His brow furrowed and his eyes bright, Steve leaned forward and put a hand on Mike's left forearm. "Why didn't you want to tell me?"

Mike stared at him, unmoving, trying to control his pounding heart. He smiled self-consciously. "I know where you went, Steve. I know you were at Quantico," he said quietly, watching as the younger man's frown deepened. "I figured something was up a couple of weeks ago when I saw Joe Merrick's name on your desk."

"Why didn't you -?"

"I knew if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me. And if you didn't, well, I could live with that too, because it's _your_ life, these decisions are _yours_. I have no right to have any say whatsoever over what you do with your life - you know that."

"Mike, I -" Steve began, sitting back to put some distance between them.

"Steve," Mike said almost sharply, tilting his head and smiling slightly. "What we have right now, this partnership of ours… I'm well aware how special it is, believe me. But let's face it, you're at the beginning of your career and I'm a lot to closer to the end. I have five, maybe ten good years left in me, and not all of those on the streets, and you know that."

Mike continued to stare at the younger man, who had dropped his gaze to the floor, fidgeting slightly, uncomfortable. He waited until Steve looked back up at him. "And if this," he briefly touched the right side of his chest, "turns out to be cancer, then I'm done, both as a cop and as your partner."

"And if it isn't?" Steve asked quietly, defiantly.

Mike shrugged with a slight smile. "Well, we'll know soon, I hope. But I want to make sure you know that any decision you make about the rest of your life, whatever it is, you have my blessing. Am I understood?"

Steve nodded reluctantly, still not quite able to smile.

"So what did you tell them?"

"Oh, ah, nothing. I just said I had to get home… family emergency," he finished with a self-conscious smile that Mike mirrored.

"Can you go back?"

Steve stared at him. "I'm not –" he began forcefully.

Mike held up his left hand, cutting him off. "When all this… has been dealt with?" he said quickly.

"Oh, well, I don't know," Steve shrugged, "I didn't even think to ask. I just wanted to get back here as soon as I could. I took the first flight out this morning."

Mike nodded, his eyes bright. He stared at Steve for a few beats, and they both smiled.

Steve took a deep breath. "So, uh, what happens next?"

Mike raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Well, malignant or not, I'm scheduled for another surgery tomorrow morning. If it turns out to be benign, they're gonna go back in and take it out. And if it turns out to be cancerous, then they have to decide how much of my lung and the tissue around it to remove… And then I start radiation and chemotherapy… and I tell Jeannie."

Trying to keep his roiling emotions in check, Steve said, "You didn't tell her either?"

Dropping his eyes, Mike shook his head. "I just couldn't do this to her, not after her mother. It's the not knowing right now that's the killer. Once I find out one way or the other, then I can begin to make decisions, but right now… I just feel like I'm in limbo. I feel helpless… and scared," he finished breathlessly as his voice cracked and tears sprang to his eyes.

Steve's hand once more gripped the older man's forearm and he squeezed. "I bet," he said with quiet consolation. After a couple of seconds of silence, he asked delicately, "Does cancer run in your family?"

Looking down, and with a perplexed shake of his head, Mike answered softly, "Not that I know of. And I've never smoked. That's why this has me so rattled." He looked up, and it was easy to see the anxiety in his eyes.

Steve's heart, wrapped in fear, constricted even more. He tried a gentle smile. "But we don't know for sure yet, right? It might be something else altogether, right?"

Buoyed by the less-than-subtle defiant optimism in his partner's words, and his use of 'we' instead of 'you', Mike smiled and nodded. "Right," he agreed and Steve shook his arm encouragingly, leaning back and grinning.

After a brief silence, staring at each other as their smiles disappeared, Mike tilted his head slightly. "So, who was the snitch?"

Steve grinned again and chuckled. "Oh, no. Nope, you're not getting that from me, not yet anyway. Let's wait till you're better then you can deal with them on your own."

"Well, the only person who knows I'm here is Rudy, so-"

Steve quickly shook his head. "It's not Rudy, I can tell you that, so relax."

Mike frowned, now truly confused. He opened his mouth to say something but Steve cut him off again. "I don't care what you say, I'm not going to tell you, so forget it. If it's bugging you so much, just lay there and think about it. Don't forget, you can't afford to let all those detective brain cells of yours atrophy if you're gonna be on the streets for another ten years."

Trying to suppress a grin, Mike looked down. "What are you doing?" he asked with a chuckle.

Smiling and shaking his head, Steve eyes lit up. "I just want to make sure you don't, ah, what is it, 'get on the horse before it gets out of the barn…'?" He shrugged comically, his face contorted as he pretended to remember the axiom.

With an affectionate chuckle, Mike offered, "I think you mean 'Don't count your chickens before they hatch', buddy boy. Try to get your barnyard aphorisms straight."

"Aphorisms?" Steve laughed. "Whoa, that's a five-dollar word! What, have you been holding out on me? Been doing crossword puzzles behind my back again?"

Mike pretended to think. "No," he said slowly, "maybe it's more like 'Don't put the cart before the horse.'… Or maybe it's 'Don't close the barn door after the horse is gone'…" His voice trailed off but his smile lingered.

"What's with you and horses all of a sudden?" Steve asked, chuckling and shaking his head, grateful to see his friend showing a bit of the old spark. His throat constricted suddenly and tears stung his eyes as the reality of their current situation came back to him. As his smile melted away, he said quietly. "It's gonna be okay, Mike."

With a rueful closed mouth smile and a wink, Mike nodded. "Sure."

There was a quick rap on the door and it opened without further preamble. Dr. Robinson stepped into the room. "Hey, did I hear laughter coming from this room a few seconds ago?" he asked rhetorically with a broad grin. "That's a sound we don't hear too much in this ward, unfortunately." He glanced from Mike to Steve, taking a step forward and holding out his hand. "Paul Robinson. I'm Mike's surgeon."

Steve scrambled to his feet and took the doctor's hand. Before he could say anything, Mike spoke up. "Doc, this is Steve Keller. He's my partner." There was no mistaking the pride in his voice.

Blinking quickly, Steve squeezed the doctor's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Robinson."

Squeezing back, Robinson nodded. "Same here." He released Steve's hand and took a step back towards the bed. His smile disappeared as he hefted the clipboard he was holding in his other hand.

"Mike," he said, his voice suddenly serious, "I have the results of the biopsy."


	5. Chapter 5

Mike caught his breath, his face losing all expression. Steve inhaled deeply, moving closer to the bed, absent-mindedly reaching out to touch his partner's arm, prepared to do or say whatever might be needed. Suddenly the only thing he was aware of was his desire to be there for his best friend, no matter what.

Dr. Robinson raised his eyebrows, and slowly the corners of his mouth curled into a small sympathetic smile. "So, what do you want first? The good news..." He paused and his smile widened. "… or the good news?"

Both cops froze for a split second, neither completely grasping what the surgeon had just said.

"What?" Mike asked quietly as he felt Steve's hand grasp his left forearm and squeeze.

Robinson's face exploded into a beaming grin. "Mike, there is absolutely no trace of cancer whatsoever. The tumour is completely benign." The elation in his voice was indisputable.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Mike closed his eyes, taking breaths as deeply as he dared without pain, his chin trembling and tears beading on his eyelashes.

Glancing up, the doctor could plainly see the tears that had also sprung to the younger cop's eyes as he stared at his partner, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to keep his own shaking under control.

Robinson backed away, giving them a moment as Mike slowly opened his eyes and looked up at his friend, too overwhelmed to do more than just stare. Squeezing the older man's arm once more, Steve took a step back and, suddenly drained, slumped into the chair, leaning forward and dropping his head, allowing the relief to wash over him.

Mike brought his left hand to his eyes, quickly brushing the moisture away and glancing towards the doctor with an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry, Doc," he began shakily, "uh, I just, ah, that was what I wanted to hear but I really didn't think I was going to, you know."

Nodding compassionately, Robinson moved closer to the bed, still beaming. "It's okay, I understand completely. Most people have a tendency to expect the worst in these kinds of situations; it's human nature." He chuckled. "Believe me, it's not very often that I get to deliver good news. And it's a real pleasure, and a privilege, when I do get to do it."

Trying to smile, Mike nodded.

Robinson glanced at Steve, who was still staring at the floor, and cleared his throat slightly as he returned his attention to his patient. "But, as you know, we're not through with you yet. You're still scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning. We'll remove the entire tumour, sew you back up, keep you in bed with that chest tube for another day, take out the tube and monitor you for another 24 hours and then, sometime Sunday morning, you'll be free to go home."

Steve's head had come up as Robinson spoke, and he watched the doctor through moist eyes. "He can go home?" he asked quietly, disbelief tingeing his voice.

Robinson grinned as he met the green-eyed stare. "He sure can. He'll have to take it easy for a week or so, no heavy lifting and that kind of thing," he continued with a chuckle, "but you should have him back to work before the end of the month."

As the cops exchanged slightly surprised but relieved stares, Robinson started to move towards the door. "Gentlemen, I'll leave you two alone. Enjoy your evening, and remember, Mike," he said with a encouraging glance towards Steve, "you can have anything you want for dinner, so why don't you both take the opportunity to celebrate a little bit. Just, ah, no alcohol, nothing after midnight, and don't forget the nurse'll be in later to give you a sleeping pill."

Mike smiled. He opened his mouth so say something, then seemed to discover that he couldn't find his voice. He snorted a quiet laugh, glancing down then met Robinson's eyes again. "Thanks, Doc," he managed to get out.

Winking as he opened the door, Robinson chuckled. "My pleasure. And you know, I could really get used to being the bearer of good news." His gentle laughter trailed behind him as the door closed quietly in his wake, and a silence settled over the room.

Mike leaned his head back against the pillows, closed his eyes and carefully took a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, he lifted his head and looked at Steve, who was staring back, expressionless. Gradually the older man began to grin. "In case I forget to mention it," he said with love and laughter in his voice, "I'm really glad you're here."

# # # # #

Steve was sitting beside the bed, Mike's hand in his, waiting. His semi-conscious partner had been wheeled back to his room about a half hour earlier. The operation to remove the tumour from his right lung had gone perfectly, and the older man had spent a couple of hours being monitored in Recovery. Satisfied that all was well, the hospital staff had transferred him back to his room, and now Steve was waiting for him to come around.

After a wonderfully relaxed, and almost overly exuberant, dinner of pasta ordered in from Mama's, he had returned to his apartment. He then spent the next couple of hours lying on his couch, nursing a couple of beers, trying to come to terms with the events and emotions of the past few days.

The offer from the FBI was still on the table, he knew, but thankfully there was no pressure to make a decision now or even in the near future. He had been beyond impressed with their facilities, their ever-evolving techniques and hardware, and the quality and experience of their personnel.

And, he had to admit, he was more than a little flattered that they seemed to be going out of their way to court him. He knew that he was precisely the type of individual they were looking for, and he also knew that if he played his cards right, he could essentially write his own ticket, that a life in the Bureau would reward him in ways a career spent entirely in San Francisco could never hope to do.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and laid the back of his head atop the arm of the couch. And he thought about Mike.

Words from earlier in the day had stayed in his mind, returning again and again. Of course he realized that they couldn't remain partners forever, that the age gap actually was larger than either of them cared to admit, and that eventually he would have to go on alone.

A warmth washed over him suddenly and tears stung his closed eyes. As his chin began to tremble and he started having trouble breathing through his nose, tears trickled down his temples and into his hair.

He had woken with the sun, still on the couch, still in his dress shirt and pants. Wrapped in a melancholia he was finding difficult to shake off, he showered and dressed, grabbing a coffee and some toast before heading back to the hospital.

And now he was sitting at Mike's bedside, waiting patiently for his partner to regain consciousness. The last twenty-four hours had been an overwhelming emotional rollercoaster, but finally the worst seemed to be over. He smiled as he tightened his grip on Mike's hand, relieved and thankful that things had turned out as they did.

Mike moaned slightly, and his lips curled into a slight smile. He squeezed the hand he felt in his own. "You haven't been here all night, have you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve smiled and squeezed back. "No, they wouldn't let me. But I was here just before they took you into surgery. You were already pretty out of it."

Mike smiled knowingly, keeping his eyes closed and gripping Steve's hand a little tighter. "How did I do?"

Steve shook his head, chuckling. "Doctor Robinson said it was flawless. They got it all and you're gonna be just fine."

Mike opened his eyes and turned his head slowly in Steve's direction. "So, we're gonna be back on the streets before you know it, right?" he asked lightly, but there was something in his voice that gave the simple question more of an edge that it seemed.

Mike's smile disappeared, and he stared into his partner's eyes with a sad yet almost ferocious intensity. He knew he was being unfair and maybe more than a little selfish. But in those wonderfully heady hours they had spent together the previous evening, both of them enveloped in the euphoric cocoon of relief, he had realized that he wasn't ready to lose this remarkable young man just yet, no matter what he had said earlier.

Steve's smile slowly faded as well and he sighed heavily as he looked into the familiar blue eyes. "Yeah," he said quietly, "yeah, Mike, we're gonna be back on the streets before you know it." But he couldn't mask the apprehension in his voice, and they both knew that, whether they wanted it or not, they now stood at a crossroads in their lives and their relationship.

And neither one knew what to do next.


	6. Chapter 6

"Here, let me give you a hand." Steve took a step closer to Mike and snagged the right arm of the beige windbreaker, settling it gently on the older man's right shoulder.

Once more dressed in the clothes he had arrived in days earlier, Mike's right arm was in a sling under his checked shirt. "Is it that cold outside?" he asked as Steve turned back to the bed, stuffing the toiletry case into the overnight bag.

"No, it's not too bad, it's just the wind coming in off the Bay."

Mike nodded knowingly. He'd always found it amusing that a great many visitors to The City found themselves caught off-guard when a beautifully sunny day would suddenly turn cold and damp.

Steve was doing up the zipper on the bag when the door opened and Dr. Robinson shot into the room. "Oh, great, I thought I missed you guys," he said in a rush, smiling.

"Well, good morning, Doctor," Steve said with a chuckle and a knowing nod at Mike, who grinned and shook his head slightly. They had gotten used to the effervescent physician turning up unexpectedly over the past couple of days. His interest in them as police officers, and his genuine concern for Mike's health, had been endearingly apparent throughout the older man's stay.

"How are you feeling, Mike?"

The lieutenant nodded, still smiling. "Great. I really am. And, ah, more than a little anxious to get home, to tell you the truth."

"Understood," Robinson chuckled.

"Just waiting for the wheelchair," Steve added as Mike shot him a look, both knowing full well how much the older man hated that particular hospital protocol.

"Well, you just remember what I said, Mike. Keep the sling on for a couple of days, it'll help remind you not to move too quickly or use your arm too much. And get out and do some walking, but I don't want you back at work for at least a week and then only behind a desk for a week after that, okay?"

"You got it, Doc," Mike nodded with a smile. He jerked his left thumb in Steve's direction. "He'll make sure of that."

Steve's head bobbed up and down as well as his eyebrows, a silly grin plastered on his face, and Robinson guessed they had been down this road before.

The surgeon laughed before turning his attention back to the lieutenant. "Mike, ah, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Mike turned and sat on the edge of the bed. "Sure, shoot."

"Well, we couldn't help noticing, the both times we had you on the table, the little roundish scars you have on your right shoulder and upper arm. Are those scars from gunshot pellets?"

Mike glanced at Steve before he nodded. "Yeah, I got hit, oh, when was it now..? Almost a year ago, I guess."

"Was that when those priests were being targeted, and one here in the city was killed?"

Both cops nodded. "Yeah, that was it," Mike confirmed.

"They took seventeen pellets out of him," Steve said with a nod in his partner's direction and Mike looked at the surgeon with a shrug.

"Really?" said Robinson softly, as his stare briefly unfocused and his right hand absent-mindedly went to the left breast pocket of his white coat. With a smile, he slipped a small glass tube with a cork stopper out of his pocket, his eyes finding Mike's, and he smiled. "Then I guess maybe they should have taken eighteen pellets out of you," he said quietly, holding up the vial.

Both Mike and Steve stared at the cylinder in Robinson's hand, then looked at each other, brows furrowed. It was Steve who found his voice first. "What?"

Robinson's smile grew wider. "Well, from the looks of it, this," he shook the vial and it rattled, "has been in your chest, in the wall of your lung actually, since you got shot. It probably wasn't visible in the x-ray and it was missed. And over the past however many months it's been, your body did exactly what it was supposed to do to protect itself from this… foreign body… and it began to… calcify, for lack of a better word."

He handed the tube to Mike, who had been staring at him with barely suppressed bewilderment. "They found that at the center of your tumour."

Mike looked at the vial in his hand and the small round metal pellet inside. "Sonofabitch," he whispered quietly.

Steve chuckled and shook his head. "Wow," he said softly, "something that small, hunh?"

Robinson nodded. "Yep. It doesn't take much. But let's just be glad that's all it was, right?"

Mike looked up at the physician and nodded, still somewhat stunned.

Robinson gestured at the vial in Mike's hand. "You can keep that. A souvenir," he said with a chuckle. "Well, I gotta get going. Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure, it really has," he said, shaking Steve's hand. "And Michael, you take care of yourself, I don't want to see you back in here anytime soon, right?" He put his hand on Mike's upper left arm and squeezed.

"Thanks, Doc," Mike said with a wan smile, his mind still obviously on the tube in his hand.

As the door closed behind the surgeon, Mike looked up at his partner, who shook his head and grinned. Mike looked down at the tube and snorted a laugh.

# # # # #

The drive from the hospital to De Haro Street was made mostly in silence. Since Mike had woken after the second surgery two days before, their conversations had remained mostly wide-ranging and non-specific.

But now that they both knew Mike was going to make a full and quick recovery and be back on the job very soon, their unspoken thoughts had turned in the other direction. And for Mike, it felt like he had a Sword of Damocles hanging over his head, knowing deep in his soul that other than their obviously close friendship and enviable working partnership, there was nothing else that could be offered to the immensely talented young man who was being enticed to re-establish himself at one of the most prestigious law enforcement organizations in the world.

Mike realized that this was going to be one of those rare times in his life when keeping his mouth shut just might possibly be his best strategy. As much as he wanted Steve to stay in San Francisco, he knew in his heart of hearts that the most truly loving thing he could do would be to allow the partner he cared about so much to make up his own mind, in his own time.

Finally, though, unable to contain himself any longer, Mike looked across the front seat. "Roy," was all he said.

"What?" Steve asked, glancing over, taking his eyes from the road momentarily.

"For some reason, Rudy told Roy and Roy called you. Am I right?" Mike stared at his partner's profile. When there was no response, he continued, "I'm right, aren't I?"

"I told you I wasn't going to –"

"You don't have to," Mike cut him off with a laugh, "your silence just now spoke volumes." Continuing to chuckle, Mike looked once more through the windshield as Steve turned the Porsche onto De Haro and started scanning the street for a parking spot. "Don't worry about it," he said softly. "To be perfectly honest, I'm glad he did."

As Steve slid the sports car into an open space and turned off the engine, Mike looked at him with a slightly evil grin and a chuckle. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to make him suffer for it."

# # # # #

Steve leaned against the doorframe, sipping his coffee, staring at the sleeping man on the bed. After returning home and having a quick lunch, claiming cabin fever from his week in a hospital bed and over Steve's somewhat lame protests, Mike had decided to take himself for a short walk around the neighbourhood while Steve made a quick trip to his apartment to pick up the things he would need for the next several days stay.

When he got back to the Stone residence, he had found Mike stretched out on his bed, fully clothed and sound asleep, a light blanket pulled haphazardly over him. After straightening the blanket, Steve wandered down to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, using his time alone to think.

There had been two messages on his home answering machine from Fremont, the first inquiring, in the most polite but vague terms, about the condition of the afflicted 'family member', and the second asking that Steve please return his call so that they could discuss his status with the Bureau.

And now he stood, staring at his best friend, knowing that for everyone's sake he had to make a decision and make it soon.

He wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, but his coffee cup was long empty when Mike began to stir then opened his eyes. "I was wondering when you were going to wake up," he said quietly, not wanting to startle the older man.

Smiling, Mike looked over, stretching slightly and carefully. "What time is it?"

"Almost five," Steve answered, glancing at his watch. "You up for some dinner? I bought us some steaks when I did the grocery shopping yesterday. I figured we'd have French fries and fried onions as well. What do you say?"

Mike took a deep breath. "I'd say that sounds wonderful."

"Great," Steve nodded, pushing himself away from the doorframe. "I'll get everything started, and you can join me when you get it together. There's no rush."

He disappeared down the stairs and Mike let his head drop to the bed again, taking a deep breath. His smile turned slowly into a frown. He was well aware that Steve was wrestling with his conscience right now, and tempted as he was to say something, he knew he couldn't. All he could do was hope that Steve would realize the hole he would leave in Mike's life, and his heart, if their days together were now numbered.

# # # # #

Steve was at the stove stirring a pan of frying onions when Mike made his way into the kitchen.

"That's smells great."

A towel thrown over his shoulder, Steve glanced up and grinned. "I know. There's just something about the smell of frying onions, isn't there? I could be stuffed to the gills, but that smell always makes me hungry again."

Chuckling, Mike glanced around the kitchen. "What can I do to help?"

As Steve turned the heat down on the element under the fry pan and put the lid on, he nodded towards the table. "If you can keep an eye on the onions, the French fries are in the oven – and yes, I'm doing them that way instead of frying them – can you finish setting the table? I want to get those steaks on the bar-b-que. You okay with all that?"

Mike looked around then back at his young friend. "Sure, not a problem. Even one-handed," he grinned.

Chuckling, Steve slapped his arm as he crossed past him and picked up the plate of steaks before heading out the back door.

Mike briefly lifted the lid of the frying pan, took another whiff with a smile and closed eyes, then turned to the table, noting the absence of cutlery. Taking steak knives and forks from the drawer he crossed to the table, stopping abruptly when he noticed what appeared to be a rather large brochure atop the plate at his spot.

He put the cutlery down and sat, picking up brochure. It was open, folded to a specific page. Across the top of the page in large bold letters it read 'Entry Requirements' with a small FBI seal beside it.

Mike's eyes scanned the page quickly, noting handwriting in the margins that he knew to be Steve's. Towards the top of the page, under an opening paragraph, was the first bullet point, the first sentence underlined in ballpoint pen. It read: _**Candidates must be at least 23 years old, but younger than 37 at the time of appointment.**_

In the margin, in the same blue ink, was written _37 years_ , then below that, _I'm 31_ , with the number underlined. Below that, _6!_ and an arrow trailing to the bottom of the page. Mike's eyes followed the arrow to the lower margin where, in Steve's unmistakable handwriting, he read _Looks like I've got a lot of time to make up my mind – so why don't we start working on our second five years…_

# # # # #

Steve was standing at the bar-b-que with the long tongs in his right hand. He heard the back door open and a few seconds later he felt Mike close behind him. He didn't turn around when Mike's hand dropped onto his left shoulder and squeezed, holding him as if for his very life. Steve lowered his head and caught his breath, closing his eyes. He could hear Mike's laboured breathing behind him.

They stood that way for several seconds, then Mike said hoarsely, "So, ah, how are the steaks coming?"

With a ragged chuckle, Steve lifted his head. "Ah, they're almost done."

"Good…good," Mike repeated quietly, his vice-like grip on his partner's shoulder relaxing. Now patting Steve's back gently, he turned slowly and started back towards the house. "Everything's … ah, everything's ready… everything's just perfect."

Steve heard the back door close and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, biting his lips. Then he took a deep breath and he smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks, everyone, for coming along on this journey. I hope you enjoyed it and that Sylvia Elaine is satisfied with what I did with her idea!**

The elevator doors opened, and Captain Roy Devitt held one door with his hand as he poked his head into the corridor, looking quickly in both directions. With a relieved sigh, he stepped out into the empty hallway, letting the doors close behind him as he started towards his office.

The pair he was looking for had been back on the job for over a week now but he still hadn't seen hide nor hair of them, and that worried him. He knew that his 'cover' had probably been blown and he had prepared to be confronted and, at the very least, chastised. But this ominous silence was becoming even more disturbing.

The sun was long down and this floor of the building was more or less deserted. He planned on grabbing his coat and leaving for the night as he approached the closed door of his office.

He opened the door, momentarily surprised at finding the light off. As his office was an interior one, without the benefit of a window, he always left the fluorescents on during the day and he didn't remember turning them off when he left an hour earlier.

His hand went automatically to the light switch, but stopped abruptly when he felt what seemed like tape over the toggle. As he hesitated, the light on his desk snapped on and his head spun in that direction. He froze, his eyes widening.

Mike Stone was leaning back in his chair, arms folded, his fedora on the desk in front of him. Wearing dark glasses and a stern, almost threatening expression, Steve Keller stood beside him, hands clasped in front of him, looking very much a protective and vigilant bodyguard.

Very slowly, Mike leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the desk. With his right hand, he beckoned Devitt forward. "Please, close the door and come in, sit down," he said slowly, his voice low and gravelly, and for a split second Devitt thought, _He sounds like Don Corleone…_

Devitt quietly closed the door behind himself then crossed quietly to the guest chair and sat, his brow furrowed but keeping his mouth shut.

Mike leaned forward even more. "It has come to my attention that you… how shall I put it?… Reneged on a promise… or, uh, betrayed a confidence, so to speak."

 _Yep, Don Corleone…_ Devitt, slowly overcoming his shock and confusion, opened his mouth to say something but was waved quiet. He closed his mouth, trying not to smile, suddenly very curious about how this was going to play out.

Mike leaned back slowly. He glanced briefly over his shoulder. "My colleague and I have decided that you need to pay for this…indiscretion."

His expression remaining the same, Steve shifted where he stood, the dark glasses still focused on the captain's face. He sniffed and adjusted his shoulders, and Mike smiled briefly and coldly.

"We had decided on twelve," Mike said slowly, enigmatically, with another glance at his partner, "but for, ah, for reasons passing understanding… well, passing _your_ understanding, we decided on eighteen."

Steve bent down and picked something up off the floor. Leaning forward, he put a tallish square dark green box on the desk close to the captain, then straightened back up and stared straight ahead.

Mike watched as Devitt's eyes travelled from Steve to the box now sitting before him. The captain's eyes widened and his eyebrows climbed towards his hairline.

With a smile, Mike slowly got to his feet and picked up his fedora. As he crossed around the desk, Steve following close behind, he stopped beside the now totally flummoxed senior officer.

"I wouldn't recommend that you do that again, you understand, but, on a personal level, we are both glad that you did." He continued on to the door, his partner behind, without another word.

As he heard the door close, Devitt looked at the box on the desk. He picked it up and brought it closer so he could read the label. _The Macallan, 18-year-old Single Malt Whisky._ Somewhere down the corridor, he swore he could hear the sound of laughter.

He looked around the still almost pitch black room. "What the hell….?"


End file.
